The Messenger: Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #1 (7 page)

I
stroked
Nathan’s mane and gingerly handed him an old apple I had pocketed earlier from a basket of withering fruit in Elizabeth’s food storage area. Abigail had a book. Was it like Mama’s book? Could it have clues to help me get back to my real life? My head was spinning, my brain raced.

I needed to unwind. I needed to think. The only thing that did that for me back in Chicago was yoga. I looked around the stable. Yes, it was a little stinky, and the space was cramped, but why couldn’t I do yoga here?

I realized I could. I could do things for myself in this foreign world. I would still be Madeline Blackford, who just happened to be transported back in time three hundred plus years—hopefully just for a short while.

I spotted some blankets piled in the corner of the barn, grabbed one, and tossed it on the earth in front of Nathan’s stall. I put my hands flat on it and stretched my body with my butt up in the air, my face inches from the blanket.

My nose twitched and I sneezed. Phew, this thing smelled horsey.
(Note to self: pretty much everything smells horsey in the year 1675.)

Technically, this yoga pose was Downward Facing Dog. Right now it was Downward Facing Colonial Girl. I stretched my spine, grunted, and felt a couple of lifetimes of stress roll off my shoulders.

“This feels amazing,” I said to Nathan. “I wish you could try this.”

He flicked his tail and blew through his lips loudly.

“Hah! Horse Breath! You’re good.” I blew through my lips, too. Horse breath was a great way to reduce stress.

I segued into more yoga moves: planks, pushups, back bends, and sun salutations. Those were my favorites. You’d lift your arms as far as you could over your head and thank God, the stars, the heavens, or whomever you cared about that you were doing this practice.

I tried to sweep out negative emotions, and pull in positive energy as I lengthened my spine and expanded my ribs. I breathed deeply. Inhaled. Exhaled. I knew each breath could help wash away my anxiety.

I broke into a sweat, my endorphins kicked in, and I felt great except for the fact that the ugliest dress in the world was squeezing me half to death. I looked around. No one was here; only a few animals. Elizabeth had said we could do things a little differently, if no people were watching. I made the decision.

I finagled my way out off my long, ugly dress, and tossed it across the barn.

I was in my pilgrim underwear. These were definitely not Victoria’s Secrets—more like Victoria’s Rejects. They were hideous, fluffy pajamas with a big girdle around the middle. The girdle, called a corset, was most likely damaging my organs, and I was done with it.

I reached behind my waist and yanked on the cords that kept this thing cinched around me. Loosened them enough that I pulled myself out of this torture device, swung it around my head and pitched it through the air. “See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya.” The corset landed in a corner of the barn with a
thunk
.

I felt my ribs expand. Freedom. I closed my eyes, and took my first Warrior pose since I was back in Chicago. “Warrior One,” I said. My front knee was bent at a ninety-degree angle with my back leg extended, and my arms straight overhead. I breathed, held the pose then shifted my pelvis and stretched my arms out long in both directions over both my shoulders.

I felt fierce and fiery. I breathed deep and guttural. For the first time in weeks I felt in control. “Warrior Two, Nathan. What do you think?”

Someone started clapping. “Those are the scariest, warrior moves I have seen in years,” a young man said.

I shrieked, and whip turned. Samuel leaned against the far wall of the barn, his arms crossed in front of him, a grin on his face. He wore colonial pants, and a white shirt that was unbuttoned below his collarbones. His black hair was pushed behind his ears but a few thick curls fell above his shoulders.

“How long have you been here? Are you following me?” I glanced around the stables to find my clothes that I had thrown, apparently, everywhere. Great. “That is just wrong!”

“I was here before Elizabeth and you entered. I did not want to interrupt you. But since you are officially a warrior, what are you worried about?”

“I’m not worried.” I jumped up, snatched the world’s ugliest dress off a bale of hay, and tried to pull it over my head. But got caught in it.

My right hand was stuck in the left sleeve. I was pulling this stupid dress on backwards. I struggled to yank it off me, twisted it around, and dressed while my cheeks popped bright red.

Samuel tapped me on the shoulder. “Let me help you with this.”

“Back off!”

He did. His hand flew off my shoulder like he’d accidentally touched a lit burner.

I heard a loud
rip
as my arm popped out of the waistline of the dress that wasn’t sewn securely. “Don’t look!” I hollered and tried to pull my arm back in.

“Yes, Abigail.” He covered his eyes, and sat back on the barn’s floor shaking in laughter. “Because you are so charming, I will do whatever you ask.”

“Are you always a jerk? What are you doing in here?” I twisted the dress and pushed both my arms through the actual sleeves.

“Actually I came to check on Nathan.”

“Because you’re such a nice guy.” I smoothed my dress, glanced down and saw a hole in the waist about the size of a fist. Oh no, I looked like a complete idiot. I covered the hole with my hand, smoothed my hair back and looked at Samuel. But he wasn’t sitting in the aisle anymore.

Samuel was in Nathan’s stall. He whispered in his ear and applied ointment from a jar, just like the one Angeni gave me, to a wound on his flank. Nathan whisked his tail and stomped his front foot. “Shhh,” Samuel said. “You are getting better.”

“What happened to him?” I walked toward them but definitely stayed outside of his stall. That was one tall horse.

“War wound,” Samuel said. “He was General Jebediah Ballard’s horse.”

“Elizabeth’s husband?”

Samuel nodded.

“How did he get hurt?”

“Jebediah rode with fifteen of his men to meet with the Plymouth colonists to strategize battle plans. They were ambushed by Philip’s warriors, not far from here, in a corn field.”

“Oh.” My hand that covered the hole in my dress flew to my chest. “That’s why Elizabeth is so afraid.”

Samuel nodded. “Nathan was struck by an arrow that pierced deep into his shoulder. Even though he was in great pain, he carried his master back home. He saved Jebediah.” He stroked the horse’s mane.

“Nathan was determined,” I said. “He has a strong, loyal spirit.”

“Some people believed it was a miracle. Others thought it was lucky, but a waste,” Samuel said. “There was great debate whether Nathan should be put down.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve spent enough years in animal rescue to realize you don’t discard a soul, just because it is not perfect.”

“A lame horse with an infected leg is a burden during a war. They do not have time or efforts for charitable causes here.”

I realized why Elizabeth wanted me to do well with the Reverend.

“But you’re trying to save him,” I said.

“Not just save him. I want him to be strong again. I want him to be able to go back into the unknown, maybe frightened, but still follow his horse nature.” Samuel looked at me. “Which is to be a messenger.”

Whoa. Angeni said I was a Messenger. “What do you mean, ‘a messenger’?”

He scratched Nathan’s nose, massaged his neck, and worked his hands down to the horse’s shoulder. “The Great Spirit taught us horses are strong, animal messengers. If a person has horse as his totem, he has the power and endurance to deliver powerful messages.”

Nathan flinched, and stepped away from him. But Samuel didn’t chase or crowd him. He just stood and waited. “This will make you feel better,” he said and whispered words to Nathan in a language I’d never heard before. “Trust me.”

The horse eyed Samuel, took a few steps toward him and lowered his head. “Good boy.” Samuel put his face next to his and rubbed more salve around the wound.

I reached my hand over the paddock gate and petted Nathan’s head. “You’re a hero, Nathan. You must get better quickly.”

Samuel placed his hand on top of mine. “You are different since the attack.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked and realized his gaze was direct. He looked me straight in the eyes.

“It is a good thing.”

My heart pounded. Oh jeez, could a teenager have a heart attack? “Okay.” In the near distance, a bell clanged loudly and I jumped. “What’s that?”

“Means there is news.” Samuel slowly released my hand. “We gather at the commons. Remember?”

“Right,” I felt my skin tingle where his fingers had touched me. Was this my over-sensitivity thing, or something I’d never felt before, and didn’t even have words to describe? I walked toward the barn door.

“Abigail?”

My heart pounded and my face burnt, and I had the strangest magical feelings. What if he said he liked me since the day we met? I meant
me
as Abigail. I turned toward him. “Yes, Samuel?”

“There is something you need to know.”

Those hazel eyes of his were doing a number on my brain and I think I actually squinted when I looked at him. It was kind of like looking at a really bright star in the sky, on the blackest of nights. “Yes?”

“You forgot this,” Samuel said, and tossed the corset to me.

T
he courier
who delivered the news that day on the commons was a twenty-something guy, with a bad case of acne, wearing filthy, colonial clothes. His job was to share war updates with the various colonial communities fighting Philip’s war.

The garrison’s people huddled together in small, clubby groups to hear his report. I could practically touch the anxiety hanging in the air.

The courier’s news wasn’t great. The garrison’s men had traveled south and met up with more colonial soldiers to battle Philip’s warriors. But no one seemed to know or could figure out where Philip or his men were hiding.

That’s because they attacked quickly: raiding and burning settlements. There were a few full-blown battles. But not one that Jebediah or the garrison’s men had engaged in. It seemed like a case of hurry up and wait. A collective sigh of relief rose from the crowd, that none of their men were missing or dead.

But the courier had more to report. “Your relatives might be safe—for now. But one must be careful. Philip’s spies are everywhere. They recently kidnapped Patience Donaldson, a pious woman, as well as a pastor’s wife. They hold her hostage, even as I give you this message.”

There was a flurry of excited mutterings. Elizabeth shushed the crowd and asked, “How do you know Mistress Donaldson is alive?”

The crowd quieted, and the courier regarded Elizabeth, dubiously. “We know. I cannot tell you how or why,” he said.

“Do you negotiate for her release?”

“I cannot answer any more questions, Mistress Ballard,” he said and walked away accompanied by the Reverend Wilkins. Several young men in the village, including Tobias, Samuel’s friend, followed them, and seemed to hang on their conversation.

I looked at Elizabeth. Her face had turned ghost white, almost gray, and she clutched her stomach.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “All things considered, the news was pretty good, Lizzie. You okay? Can I help?”

“I do not think so.” She shook it off, and stood up straight.

S
unday came
, and as we promised, Elizabeth and I went to church services. The church was packed with the women, children, and the few men left in the garrison as well as the handful of Natives that the colonists deemed “friendly”.

I had learned that the colonists called the friendly Natives, “Praying Indians.” Just like every second-class citizen in any culture, they were not only expected to attend services, but could only do so if they stood at the back of the building.

A grayish rock veined with white quartz crystal that was bigger than my fist rested on the Reverend Wilkins’s pulpit. It functioned as a paperweight, and held down his sermons and other scribbling.

Reverend Wilkins shook his Bible a lot, (another possible upper body workout,) and lectured about the wages of sin, religious freedom, and the dangers of leaving the old country for the new land.

The old land held the threat of religious persecution, imprisonment, and never ever being able to strike out on your own. Unless you were nobility, you couldn’t own your own land and had to pay ridiculous taxes. You were basically a peasant, which meant you were poor and screwed for your entire, relatively short, miserable life.

The new land called The Americas, held the promise of gold, riches from the fur or silk trades, and you could actually own land. You’d have to work that land, have religious freedom, but had to commit to a tough life filled with harsh weather, hard labor, and awful farming conditions.

During the first hour, Reverend Wilkins lectured about piety, piousness, and hating one’s enemies. He segued into we are right, and they are wrong, and perhaps there was a hidden advertisement in there somewhere for hemorrhoid crème.

That’s when I felt Elizabeth bump my arm with hers ’cause apparently I’d dozed off. My head rested on her shoulder as I woke with a start, and heard muffled snorts from the back of the church. I swiveled my head and saw both Tobias and Samuel elbowing each other while they tried not to laugh.

I glared at them, and made the universal sign for ‘Zip it,’ across my lips.

Elizabeth frowned, and nudged me again.

The Reverend Wilkins paused in the middle of his sermon, and squinted at me.

I widened my eyes to beyond innocent standards, and pretended to touch my lips as if a wisp of hair had landed on them.

The Reverend harrumphed, and then preached for another butt-numbing hour.

E
lizabeth
and I left the church with the rest of the garrison’s inhabitants. Many of them seemed to be rubbing their behinds or stretching their backsides. “Tell me it’s not always this bad. Tell me we don’t have to do this every Sunday,” I said.

“We have to do this every Sunday,” Elizabeth said.

“I can’t take it.”

“You always have in the past.” Elizabeth nodded and smiled at all the people, primarily colonists, as well as a few Praying Indians, who stared at us, curious. “I need you to say something nice to just one of these people,” she whispered into my ear. “I would like to be rid of the witch rumors.”

“What!” I said. “That’s just crazy talk.”

“You have been very different, Abigail, since the attack,” she said.

Well of course I’ve been different.
I wasn’t flippin’ Abigail and I’d never lived in the year 1675.

“If convicted of being a witch, they will drown you or hang you.”

I shuddered. Neither sounded appealing. “Fine. How do I put the kibosh on the witch rumors?”

“Compliment some of the women. For example, Mistress Powter.” Elizabeth delicately nodded in her direction. “She is the woman with the unfortunate wart on her chin. But she is the best weaver in the garrison. She made the blankets that covered you when you were sick.”

I scanned the crowd and spotted the wart-chinned lady. “Mistress Powter!” I said. “Awesome to see you here. Wasn’t that an exciting sermon?” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Elizabeth bite her lip.

Mistress Powter eyed me suspiciously. “Yes, Abigail?” The five chatty, middle-aged women hovering around her eyeballed me too.

Suddenly I felt like something that was about to be squished onto a slide and examined under a microscope in biology class at Preston Academy.

“I am so remiss in thanking you, Mistress Powter,” I said. “My sincerest apologies. I have been recovering. Your warm, wool blankets helped me heal when I was sick. You are extremely talented, Mistress Powter. With wool and weaving and… blanket making. Thank you.”

She paused and then nodded at me. “You are welcome, Miss Abigail.” She beamed and walked away, while her friends surrounded her and clucked.

“Not a witch,” one of them said.

“Not smart enough to be a spy,” another replied.

“Still addled,” a third woman chimed in as they walked off.

Elizabeth patted my arm. “That was perfect.”

In the near distance, Tobias grinned at me, and slugged Samuel on the arm.

Samuel caught my eye and winked.

Oh my God. My skin got tingly and I felt a little lightheaded for a few seconds.
(Note to self: pull it together. Don’t be a dork.)
I gave my brain a mental shake. Maybe if I could fit in for a while without getting killed, I’d find the way back to my real life. I thought about Samuel and my heart did flip-flops. Maybe, before I traveled back to my real life—maybe I’d even fall in love.